


starlight, starcrossed

by golden_geese



Series: starlight, starcrossed [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alcohol Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, MacDennis - Freeform, Sensory Overload, dennis is wishy washy af, lots of unhealthy jealousy, mac loves dennis and dennis maybe loves mac, mac/dennis - Freeform, mental illness mentions, mostly cannonical but deviates in a few key ways, or: cannonical before the end of s. 12, semi-graphic allusions to sex, trans charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 01:05:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_geese/pseuds/golden_geese
Summary: everyone remembers mac and dennis getting married in 2008-- except mac and dennis. blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol.





	1. we could be reckless

**Author's Note:**

> more info at https://golden-geese.tumblr.com/main

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just remembered maureen/bastet is dead in cannon now...... so i guess the episode "making dennis reynolds a murderer" is excluded from this verse lmao

November 12, 2018  
a Monday  
6:09 p.m.

“I’m just saying, dude, it would be a good idea.”

“I’m going to kick your ass into next week. Would that be a good idea?:

“Drunk people love glitter,” Mac insisted. “Drunk gay dudes love rainbows. Rainbow glitter dispensers in the men’s bathroom is a great idea. They put in a dollar and glitter comes out. We make money from the dollars. Shut up.”

“It’s-it’s disgusting and think of the mess!”

“Charlie would clean up the mess, you know that.”

Half-scowling, Dennis shook his head so hard it dislodged a curl into his eyes. He turned toward their apartment door and unlocked it.

“Yo, we should get the mail,” Mac suggested, taking his jacket off.

“I already got the mail, you dum-dum,” Dennis said dismissively. “It’s on the table.”

“You didn’t look through it?”

“No. I had to prepare the cereal. I couldn’t-- I didn’t have time to stand around reading your horoscopes and sifting through junkmail!”

“Okay, okay, dude, no need to get all riled up. Let’s just look at it now. I think our electricity bill came.”

“Have at it,” Dennis said, going to get a beer out of the fridge.

Mac wandered over to the pile of mail and started looking through it. Junk mail, something for the lady next door, the electricity bill, and--

He frowned. “Den?”

“What?”

“We have a letter from Bridgeport, Connecticut. Addressed to both of us.”

Dennis quirked an eyebrow, closing the space between him and Mac and taking the letter out of his hand. “To Mr. Dennis Reynolds and Mr. Ronald McDonald. From Holy Ghost Russian Orthodox Church?”

“This has got to be one of Charlie’s weird mail pranks,” Mac said.

“Since when does Charlie do weird mail pranks?”

“Since-- I don’t fucking know, dude. We’ve never even been to Bridgeport, Connecticut.”

“Yes we have,” Dennis said after a second. “Winter of 2008. Dee dragged us with her to visit her old college boyfriend, remember?”

“Oh, right! We didn’t end up seeing him, though, did we?”

“No. He was dead at the time,” Dennis said dismissively. “We ended up getting shitfaced and riding shopping carts around the Bridgeport mall. I don’t remember going to a communist church, though.”

“Should we just throw it away?”

“What? No. You have to embrace your destiny, Mac. Even if it’s mail from ghosts,” Dennis added, pushing his voice up into a high-pitched Charlie impression.

Mac laughed. “Should I open it, then?”

“Go for it.” He handed it back to Mac and went to the pantry for a roll of thin mints.

Mac ripped it open, weaseling the letter out of the envelope. He unfolded it and smoothed it out. Dennis watched him read it-- watched his eyebrows mash together. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Well, I don’t know, do I, because clearly I haven’t read the letter,” Dennis said, snatching it. “Dear Mr. Reynolds and Mr. McDonald, on behalf of the Holy Ghost Russian Orthodox Church we are pleased to wish you… a happy tenth anniversary?”

“Dude, we’re married,” Mac said, his lip twitching a little.

“No,” Dennis insisted. “We can’t be married, I-- I married Maureen Ponderosa!”

“Maybe you didn’t, bro,” Mac said, leaning over Dennis’ arm to read the letter. “This shit says we got married exactly ten years ago.”

“We must have been incredibly drunk.”

“Oh, we got so drunk that weekend, dude. I remember Dee throwing up in a fountain. Do you remember that? It was rainbow ‘cause she was swallowing Skittles whole. She puked for so long, dude.”

“You know, I almost remember,” Dennis said, crossing his arms. “I think I thought I dreamed it at the time.”

“Yeah, I’ve always kind of… wondered how much of my memories of that weekend were real and how much was imagined shit,” Mac agreed. “I remember blowing you in the hotel room while Dee was in the shower.”

“It’s because they legalized same sex marriage in Connecticut that same day,” Dennis remembered out loud. “People were celebrating at the mall. That’s where we got the Skittles. Then Dee dared us to get married and she didn’t think we would do it so obviously we had to do it. And then you sucked me off in the hotel room right after. I guess that was our consummation.”

“Yikes, dude. Does Dee know, then?”

“That we’re apparently legally married?” Dennis asked. “Well, I suppose she must have been our witness.”

“Should we ask her?”

“And admit we didn’t know we were married all these years?” Dennis demanded. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, yeah, good call, bro. You wanna go out on a nice anniversary dinner?”

Dennis’ face shifted. He wasn’t sure if Mac was serious, Mac could immediately tell. Because that was exactly the kind of thing Dennis would want to do.

“I mean it, Den, let’s celebrate,” he said.

“...Okay, sure. Let’s go to Guigino’s. But don’t tell my sister. If you tell her we didn’t know I’ll divorce you.”

“Deal.”

“Wait,” Dennis said, grabbing Mac’s arm. “If I’ve been married to you for ten years, that means I wasn’t legally married to Maureen. That means I can’t be expected to keep paying her alimony.”

“Hell yes, dude! Silver lining,” Mac said, grinning, as if the silver lining wasn’t just being married to Dennis.

Dennis grinned a little bit too. “Put on a nicer shirt. It’s your anniversary, for Christ’s sake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sequel coming throughout november!


	2. a fresh poison each week

November 13, 2018 

a Tuesday 

1:23 p.m. 

As he drove them to Paddy’s, Dennis kept catching sight of the ring on his left hand. He kept half-frowning. When they were drunk off their asses last night, Mac had been very convincing. To the point where Dennis even agreed-- this would be hilarious. How funny is it if two dudes who aren’t together get married? It must be even funnier if those two dudes proceed to get matching wedding rings and ham it up. Such a good joke. They’d been laughing hard enough last night. Laughing, and then making out. Then laughing some more.

“What’s up, dude?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you blasting shitty 80s music?” Mac asked from the passenger seat.

“Can a man not enjoy a little peace and quiet sometimes?”

“Sure, bro.”

Dennis didn’t respond, doing a third of a scowl.

“Anyway-- just so you know Charlie is helping me film a Project Badass tape after we close tonight, so you’ll have to go home without me. We’re gonna see if I can vault over this dumpster in time to disarm a grenade. It’s gonna be so badass, dude.”

“That’s not badass, that’s just stupid,” Dennis insisted. “You’re going to die. I’m going to be scraping your melted skin off the pavement behind the bar for weeks.”

“Nah, dude, cleaning up dead shit is Charlie Work,” Mac joked. “And I’m not gonna die. If anything, I’ll just do a sweet duck and cover roll back behind the dumpster while the grenade goes off. It’s a win-win.”

“You’re going to die, idiot.”

“Nah, dude, it’s totally safe, ‘cause I’m going to have a secret layer of bubble wrap under the duster.”

Dennis didn’t reply. Parallel parked the car across the street from Paddy’s. The two of them got out and jaywalked to the bar.

“Sup, boners,” Dee asked lazily, taking a sip from her Starbucks cup.

“Morning, Dee,” Mac said cheerfully, going toward the office.

“You two assholes finally get wedding rings after all this time?” Dee asked as Dennis made his way around the bar.

“...Yes,” he said. “The other day was our ten year anniversary, so we figured it was time.”

“Shit, ten years? Congrats, I guess. Though you’ve broken up like a million times during the last decade.”

Dennis glanced at his sister sideways as he cracked open a beer, trying to do sister math in his head. Did she really think he and Mac were legitimately together-together for ten years?

“And it’s kinda fucked up that you keep sleeping with women and Mac kept saying he wasn’t even gay for most of that time,” she added.

“Maybe you just don’t understand what it’s like to be in a trusting and open adult relationship because you’ve never been in one,” Dennis jabbed. “And and I’m not surprised the complex fluidity of sexuality is completely lost on your dum dum brain.”

“Shut up. I have a boyfriend.”

“No you don’t,” he dismissed.

“Yes, I do. His name is Todd. He was here yesterday. We were making out right in front of you.”

“Am I to remember the name of every man my whore sister kisses?”

“You’re the worst, Dennis, you know that? I don’t get how Mac made it to ten years with you.”

“Like I said, you wouldn’t understand our relationship, because you’ve never been in one,” Dennis snapped, turning away from her.

“Whatever.”

Charlie and Mac came out of the back room then, the duster under Mac’s arm. “We’re gonna do a setup shot to see where to put the camera,” Mac commented excitedly. 

“Congrats on ten years,” Dee said back.

“On ten-- oh, yeah! Uh, thanks. Ten years is tin, did you know that? I Googled it the other day. That’s why we got these tin rings.”

Dennis looked down at his. Tin. That’s right. It wasn’t even silver. He was so blasted when they did this whole ring thing, the memory was fuzzy. But then, that’s kind of how he liked memories like that to be.

“Ten years? I thought you just got married last spring,” Charlie said, frowning. 

“No, donkey brain, it was ten years ago when we were in Connecticut and you were on speaker phone the whole time,” Dee said, idly wiping out a beer glass and putting it away.

“Oh, that was ten years ago?”

“Yep.”

“Time sure does that.”

Dennis wanted to hit all of them. Did everyone seriously know he was married, except him? It even sounded like Mac kind of knew.

All at once, the feeling bubbled in his chest. He wanted to rip off this tin ring and shove it down Mac’s throat or at the very least chuck it across the bar or flush it down a toilet. It was suffocating his finger. Discreetly, he moved it up and down a few times so it wouldn’t feel so strangling. Because he couldn’t take it off. Not for the sake of Mac’s feelings, of course, but because if he took it off, he would be admitting that he didn’t mean to get married and he didn’t know he had been married and he didn’t want to be married. And then Dee would dunk on him with her stupid bird face for hours. Days. Weeks. She might not ever let it go.

So he just shoved his left hand in his pocket, very unnaturally, and dealt with it.


	3. dump my heart into a blender

November 21, 2018   
a Wednesday

So he froze Mac out. Stopped laughing at the marriage jokes. Stopped letting Mac sling an arm around his shoulders while they watched movies, stopped letting Mac kiss him, stopped sleeping in Mac’s room. As long as he was in charge, Dennis figured, it was okay. The ebb and flow of their relationship had always been so that they would sometimes keep their hands off each other for months at a time. Entire school years, even, when Dennis was in college. He couldn’t have his mouth around Mac’s dick when his fraternity brothers were in the next room. They only fooled around occasionally when Dennis went back home. Mac would just have to deal with it.

And Thanksgiving was coming up the next day, so Dennis had an excuse-- he was busy. Since he was by far the best at cooking in the gang, he was tasked with preparing dinner for holidays.

“Can I help with anything, Den?” Mac asked from the doorway.

He almost flinched. Wiped his hands on his apron. Turned toward his… husband. “I have it covered,” he said. “Why are you calling me that again?”

“What? Den? I always call you Den.”

“Only when we’re alone and not often over the past decade,” he whispered harshly. “I’ve told you so many times I don’t like it when you call me that in front of the others. Just call me by my name. Go. I have this covered.”

“...Okay, man, whatever you say,” Mac said, clearly a little deflated. He turned around and went back to the living room.

Shaking his head, Dennis turned back to the green bean casserole he was assembling. Cream of mushroom soup mixed with milk and salt and pepper, fresh green beans he’d rinsed and cut in half, diced onion. He stirred the ingredients together, tossing on a few pinches of thyme and tarragon and basil. Covered it in tin foil-- tin --and put it in the fridge so it was ready to go in the oven tomorrow. Then he moved on to the apple pie-- two kinds of pie, he was making for these people, and nobody even thanked him. He frowned hard at the Granny Smiths as he chopped them, the peels and their toxins rotting in the garbage can.


	4. because that would feel normal

November 29, 2018

Mac could never stay away and Dennis knew it damn well. Knew it to be fact. Knew it from experience-- no matter how mean Dennis was, no matter how many women he slept with and how much he bragged about it, Mac was always there waiting. Maybe this marriage thing would even work for Dennis, he pondered as he hung up his freshly-washed shirts. Maybe this way, Mac would stay under his thumb even better.

“Hey, Den-nis?” Mac’s voice came from the doorway, the second syllable tacked on as an afterthought.

“What?”

“Would it bother you if I went on a date?”

His insides stopped. Knocked into each other, from his head to his toes. Veins collided; bones shook; organs convulsed. 

“A date,” he repeated, tone biting. “Why should I care? Do whatever you want.”

Mac didn’t respond for a moment. Dennis hadn’t looked away from his laundry before, but now he stole an impatient glance. Mac was standing there, motionless, just kind of staring at him. Dennis could practically feel Mac’s pulse behind his ears.

“Great,” Mac said, several beats too late. He turned and left.

“Well, do you have one?” Dennis called after him, scowling.

“Tonight,” Mac replied. “In a couple hours.”

Dennis wanted to spit his teeth out one by one and carve up his gums with a razor blade. Instead, he finished with the laundry.


	5. ...and none of this does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: sexual allusions (non-explicit)

November 29, 2018

Two hours of a fresh shave, cologne, a fresh shirt, under eye concealer, curled lashes, and putting on a belt that was too light for the pants he was wearing in order to draw attention to that area later-- (on Dennis’ part, that is. Mac was the one who actually had a date planned, and all he'd done in preparation was drink beer) and it was time for the date. Almost, anyway. Twenty minutes. Dennis had everything timed perfectly. He looked and smelled his best and now all he had to do was chum the waters.

So he trailed Mac to the couch and sat down next to him, his leg against Mac's. He adjusted his belt. Mac always about died when he did that.

Waters: chummed. Mac: sideways glancing at Dennis.

“Thought you had a date,” Dennis said. “Aren't you going to get ready?”

“I'm ready. Why, should I do something else?”

“You always dress up for me,” Dennis said, hand idling on Mac's thigh. “What's the matter, baby? Don't feel like dressing up for this guy?”

It was working. He could feel it in the way Mac froze under his hand. He inched higher.

“...well, I--”

“You what, hmm?”

“I--”

“You're pretty drunk, aren't you?”

“Well, yeah--”

“I am too,” Dennis said. He wasn't. “But you never feel like you have to be drunk to hang out with me, do you?”

“N-no, but--”

“You gonna go out on a date with your wedding ring on, hmm? Tell him you have a husband waiting for you at home?”

“You said it was okay,” Mac barely managed.

“But what if I needed you at home?” He asked, voice low and quiet and close enough to Mac’s neck that he would feel the breathing. Mac almost shuddered.

“Den, come on.”

“I love it when you call me that,” he whispered against Mac’s neck. Opened his mouth against it. Thought for a second about biting hard, as he always did. About breaking Mac’s skin. About sending spools of blood streaming down his neck. Settled for slowly closing his lips against Mac’s stubbly skin, serving to remind Mac where else Dennis’ lips could close. “He’s not going to satisfy you. You know that, right? He won’t suck you off as good as I can.”

“Dennis--”

“Unzip your pants, why don’t you? I’ll show you how it’s supposed to feel.”

“Dennis.”

“What’s the matter, baby?”

Mac fell for it. Mac fumbled with his zipper. Mac stitched his fingers into Dennis’ hair once Dennis was on his knees.

Dennis could always make Mac stay.


	6. i would get beat to smithereens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: mental illness allusions/sensory overload.....

December 5, 2018 

Some days Dennis just woke up wrong. Some days every sound hurt, every flash of light nearly blinded him, every sip of coffee or water or beer tasted like vomit. Some days he woke up wrong and laid around until it went away; some days he woke up wrong and had to go to work anyway. The bar was shitty and they didn’t have much business, but it was still his job. 

He should have slept in Mac’s bed, he thought, exhaling hard as he pried himself up. He just hadn’t wanted to last night. Hadn’t bothered weighing the pros and cons of the decision. Because if he had, if he ever bothered to-- the pros would always win.

He wandered into the bathroom. Peed, cringed against the sound of the toilet flushing, washed his hands at half water pressure. Regarded himself in the mirror for a moment-- hideous. Reddened under eyes, sloppy curls falling onto his forehead, stubble lining his jaw, flecks of grey in it. He turned on his electric razor, but the way it buzzed permeated his skull and he almost dropped it. Instead, he just turned it off and resigned himself to a stubbly day. Brushed his teeth for about twenty seconds before he couldn’t take any more of it.

He tried three different shirts. The material of all of them felt like a cheese grater against his skin. But you can’t go to work naked, so eventually he just put on a soft flannel. 

“Dennis, you ready to go?”

He started. Turned to face his roommate-- Mac’s eyes immediately softened. 

“Whoa, you don’t look so good. You got a fever? Maybe you should stay home.”

He watched Mac’s hand come toward his face and settle against his forehead, nudging the errant curls away. There was so much in Mac’s dark eyes-- so much softness that Dennis couldn’t define, so many layers of warmth. A stark comparison to what he had seen in his own eyes in the mirror a minute ago. Which was nothing.

“You don’t feel warm, dude. Do you feel sick?”

He was going to nod, but then he was going to shake his head-- in the end he just kind of shrugged, breaking eye contact.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Den? Tell me.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t sleep very well and everything’s… fucking loud.”

Mac took his hand. Usually he’d yank it away, but this time he just let it happen. Let Mac raise his hand to his lips and kiss his knuckles. An unnecessarily nice soft warm thing to do. An unnecessary piece of love Dennis wasn’t sure he deserved or wanted. But one he accepted nonetheless. Maybe he didn’t want or deserve it, but maybe he kind of needed it.

“You can go back to bed if you want, bro. I’ll just tell everyone at work you have a cold or something.”

Dennis weighed his options. He could stay here alone and… well… be alone. Or he could go to work and be with Mac but have to deal with whatever the day brought. Neither option was good. 

“It’s a Wednesday,” he finally said, voice coming out scratchy and quiet. “There won’t be many people. I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

Mac was talking to him too nice. His voice was too soft and compassionate-- Dennis almost hated it. He wanted Mac to punch him or something. Wanted to feel burn against his skin.

“Yeah,” he said instead. 

Mac’s hand was still around his, their fingers intertwined. He remembered hearing somewhere that holding hands sideways was casual and platonic, and holding hands with your fingers intertwined meant you were fucking that person or at least that you wanted to fuck them. Or something like that. He always got the feeling that Mac liked him better when he was subdued like this. When he was crying on the bathroom floor or covering his ears or shaking. When he didn’t feel like himself. Or maybe, Mac was just taking advantage of the state Dennis was in because he let Mac hug him and hold his hand when he was like this. He didn’t know which was worse. Maybe they were both okay. Maybe they were both terrible. Maybe everything was terrible. He’d figure it out some other day, he decided.

“You want me to drive?”

“Okay.”

They made their way to the car. Got in. Dennis watched Mac pull out of the parking spot, and he wondered if Mac would still be so soft with him if he hadn’t been paying lots of attention to Mac over the past couple of days. If he hadn’t been telling Mac what he wanted to hear. Playing husbands. If he’d still been icing Mac out-- maybe he would have gone completely ignored this morning. Left to fend for himself. 

This game he played clearly hurt Mac. This game of sometimes begging to give him a blowjob, sometimes shoving away his advances, playing straight in front of the gang-- he knew it hurt Mac. And he didn’t not care. Of course he didn’t not care. But he had to keep it up for the sake of equilibrium. For Dennis, life was a game and games were war-- that’s always how he’d handled things. But maybe his balance was way off and he’d just never noticed. Maybe he should let himself have what he needed. Maybe he should lean into the ring on his finger the way Mac had seemed to.

By the time they were going inside Paddy’s, Dennis had decided he was done feeling like shit and digging himself deeper into this underwater footlocker. But then the door squeaked shut and he cringed hard and he knew he couldn’t just decide that.

“Ew, gross, no one wants to watch you two hold hands,” Dee said from the bar.

“Homophobic! That’s homophobic,” Mac insisted, making no move to let go of Dennis’ hand.

“Did you do your makeup with an eraser this morning, Dennis? You look terrible,” Dee added, ignoring Mac’s response.

“You would look terrible if you did your makeup with the most expensive brushes in the world,” Dennis returned, his voice still not sounding right to him.

“But I’d still look better than you. You look like someone’s asshole.”

“You look like a bird’s asshole,” Mac said.

Someone scooted their chair back. Dennis’ teeth gritted hard. He almost let go of Mac’s hand, but then he didn’t.

“You look like a dog took a shit on a picture of Pitbull,” Dee suggested back.

“You’re all ugly,” Frank said from the end of the bar. “Deandra, you look like a bird.”

Charlie burst out laughing. How had Dennis never noticed how God-awful Charlie’s laugh was before? Christ. At least he was doing a good job of containing how he felt.

“I thought of a new promotion for the bar,” Dee said, completely ignoring Frank’s insult. “We do theme nights. Like, if you come to the bar wearing a wig, you get ten percent off. Or a different night, if you come with your nails painted black, you get a free beer with every shot you buy. People love competitions. They’ll get their friends involved. The place will be packed.”

“Stupid,” Mac dismissed, coming to sit down on a stool. Dennis let Mac drag him over. “Nobody’s going to spend money on a wig so they can save money on beer. You spend more that way. It’s simple trickle down economics.”

“People have wigs laying around,” Dee insisted.

The heater rumbled to life, whirring in the background. Between that, his friends’ shrill voices, stool scooting, and the creaking door-- it was going to be a long fucking day.


	7. the catharsis of knowing something bad's about to happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warning: continued allusions of mental illness/sensory overload

December 5, 2018 

It was a long fucking day, even though Paddy’s closed earlier on weeknights. By eleven Mac was unlocking the door to their apartment. Dennis was completely beat.

Once they were inside, he watched Mac to see what he was going to do. Watched him go to the fridge to crack open a beer. He offered Dennis one silently-- without thinking, he nodded. So Mac opened another one. Now, Dennis supposed, he was expected to walk across the room and accept the drink and pour it down his throat or something. He kicked off his shoes first, stuffing his hands in his pockets-- his wedding ring caught on the way in. Fucking wedding ring. Fucking wedding. Fucking everything.

“You feeling any better than this morning, bro?” Mac asked, even though ‘this morning’ had actually been around noon. 

“I’m fine,” was all Dennis said, deliberately avoiding the question. He took the open beer and made his way to the couch and sat down, leaning back against it, hating the way the floor creaked underneath.

“Let me know if you need anything, man. Hey, you eaten today?”

Dennis didn’t want to answer.

“You didn’t, huh? ‘Cause we’ve been together all day. Unless you ate breakfast before I came out of my room. But you didn’t, right?”

Dennis shrugged, even though Mac definitely couldn’t see him.

“Well, you gotta eat something, dude. Cereal? Apple? Popcorn? Mac and cheese? I can make Mac’s Famous Mac and Cheese.”

He didn’t want Mac’s Famous Mac and Cheese. Didn’t have the energy to think of something to eat.

“You gonna reply?”

“No,” Dennis replied.

“Well, I’m not gonna force feed you. But I’m gonna order pizza. You want pizza?”

“Fine,” Dennis said, almost too quiet for Mac to hear.

Mac wandered into his room and shut the door so Dennis wouldn’t have to listen to him talk on the phone. The act of kindness almost registered. He almost appreciated it. What he did for real was close his eyes and rub them hard with his pointer fingers. Rub down the side of his face. Damn himself for not shaving because of the sound his stubble made. Damn the feeling of the tin ring against his face.

“Dude, he said it’s gonna be an hour,” Mac said, coming back into the room.

“Guess they’re busy,” Dennis exhaled.

“Guess so.” Mac wandered over and plopped down next to him, hesitating for a second before rubbing Dennis’ arm a little.

He didn’t want to look at Mac. He imagined himself shoving Mac away and going into his room and slamming the door and sitting on the floor with his forehead to his knees. He almost did it. What he did for real was melt down onto his side, face turned away, cheek against Mac’s lap. Like clockwork-- hands in his hair. But this time it was kind of nice. He always insisted to himself that he hated such things, but now, he couldn’t know for certain. Now he almost wondered if it was all a ruse. Everything he did. Every way he thought he felt.

He felt sleepy, though, that was for sure. He’d flopped around his bed all night, back and forth between too hot and too cold, just never quite bad enough to get another blanket or turn the the fan on. Maybe gotten a couple hours of sleep after the sun came up. And Mac’s legs weren’t the softest or comfiest surface he could have chosen to lay his head on, but he was content with the decision. Content with the hands in his hair and the distant ambient sounds of the city.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, though, of course. Wasn’t usually the type to fall asleep just anywhere. Didn’t realize he had in the first place until the doorbell jolted him upright.

“Shit, sorry, I was gonna go wait outside so he didn’t ring the doorbell,” Mac said, reaching for him. He jerked back without thinking about it, heart thudding hard in his forehead.

“It’s fine,” he said emptily. “Did I-- I was asleep, right?” Being caught of guard-- he hated the feeling. Wasn’t used to it at all. Had to remind himself that this was just Mac and shit didn’t matter.

“Yeah, dude. I figured you needed it since you looked so tired all day so I didn’t move. I-- oh, shit, the dude’s waiting outside,” Mac said, standing up. He stumbled a little. Legs must have been asleep, Dennis realized idly.

He watched Mac from behind as he took the pizza and paid the guy and said thanks. 

“You wanna come eat at the table, man?”

Dennis didn’t reply. He stood up, though, and headed over. 

“Wash your hands,” Mac suggested, already doing so himself. “Paddy’s has got to be crawling with germs, dude. You know Charlie huffs the cleaning chemicals more than he uses them. Dunno how that guy’s not dead.”

Dennis did as Mac said. Doing as Mac said was usually a good idea, he reasoned as he scrubbed his hands under the water.

“Anyway, I know you’re probably not hungry, but you can eat a little, right? I bet you’ll feel better if you do. Sometimes I feel like I don’t wanna eat because I don’t feel great, but then I eat and I feel a lot better. All you’ve had today is a few sips of beer and water, man.”

Dennis didn’t protest. They ate. Mac ate normal; Dennis ate slow. 

He played lots of games. Even just with himself. Speculation games. Manipulation games. Contests. As they ate their cheese pizza, he played through stuff as if Mac wasn’t involved. Played through the day. Watched himself wake up and drag himself out of bed and cringe at the sound his electric shaver made and go to work alone. Watched the bubble around him turn into a two-way mirror; watched himself sink further down into the quicksand he himself had cultivated onto his floors. Watched himself stumble home alone and sit on the shower floor or some shit. He didn’t know how it ended, he realized. Didn’t know because it never was the case. Mac was always there. Always would be, he supposed, now that they knew they were ten years into a marriage.

He hated it. 

Maybe he didn’t hate it.

He’d figure out some other day.


	8. love bites so deep, we got tiger teeth

December 7, 2018 

Two days since he’d let Mac touch him. Once the fog cleared, he’d woken up tangled up in his roommate (...husband) and decided enough was enough. Gone to shower the mushy lovey dovey crap off-- all the times Mac stroked his hair or kissed his knuckles or talked to him in that soft gentle love voice. Mac always looked at him at night, silently asking if they could sleep together, but Dennis pretended he didn’t notice.

But now. Now, he was watching Mac laugh it up with some hunky muscle dude at the other end of the bar. Now he was watching Mac crack open beer after beer for the guy, joking around with him, taking all his bait. 

“You gonna murder him or what, Dennis?”

He almost jumped. Hadn’t realized Dee was right behind him. Instead, he regarded her as she came around to face him, a scowl on his face. “He can do what he wants. I’m not his keeper.”

“Ease up on that dish rag then, crazy.”

He looked down. His hands were tightly fisted around it. He set it down.

“You jealous?”

“Dee, you bitch, I’m not jealous, we’re two adults who happen to be married but we have a very adult, very open relationship, if he wants to flirt with that beefcake he is allowed.”

“You seem pretty jealous,” she countered casually, looking down at her phone screen. “God knows you two boners have always had a weird relationship. I’m not gonna pretend to understand it. Just gonna say-- if you’re jealous, why don’t you, oh I don’t know, try talking to him about it?”

Dennis scoffed. Ridiculous. “You wouldn’t understand how things are between us. We don’t have a weird relationship. We just don’t feel the need to conform. Human beings aren’t meant to be monogamous anyway, Dee. You’d know that if you took your head out of your ass for two minutes. If I want to sleep with a woman whose name I don’t know every once in a while, or if Mac wants to flirt here and there, it’s perfectly healthy.”

Mac must have heard Dennis say his name. He glanced over, still grinning from beefcake man’s latest two-brain-cells joke. Dennis didn’t return the smile. 

“Anyway, I don’t try to meddle in your affairs,” he continued. “I don’t tell you how to treat Podd or whomever.”

“Todd,” she said. “You dick. Podd isn’t a fucking name.”

“Well, some would say Deandra isn’t a name either. Excuse me.”

He pushed past her and took a long loop around the bar, glancing around the twenty or so patrons who had gathered on the Friday night. The same crowd as always-- old dudes, a couple younger dudes, some white trash women, a group of suspiciously young looking girls who were undoubtedly taking advantage of the fact that Paddy’s rarely carded. He made his way to the end of the bar Mac was working.

“Can I see you in the back for a minute? Just some bar stuff we need to discuss,” he said, forcing his tone to be light and casual.

“Yeah, sure,” Mac said, putting down the bottle opener. He didn’t bother glancing over to Dee or asking if she had it covered. Charlie was around somewhere, anyway. 

Dennis took Mac’s hand. He knew Mac loved it when he didn’t shy away from touching in public. He knew exactly what Mac loved in a lot of ways. 

He led Mac into the office and shut the door behind them. Immediately started kissing him.

Mac kissed back for a while, arms snaking around Dennis’ waist, his dark stubble scratching against Dennis’ face. The ambient bustle of bar noise was barely muffled by the door, but they were used to it and hardly found it disruptive at this point.

“I know what you’re doing, Den,” Mac said, pulling away. He wiped his mouth.

“What I’m doing? I’m not doing anything. I saw you and I wanted to make out with you so I made it happen. Is this weird, all of a sudden? Do we no longer have the kind of relationship where we can kiss each other?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“You saw me talking to that guy at the bar, and how he gave me his number. Two seconds later you were all over me. I know what you’re doing,” he insisted, pulling Dennis back toward him for another kiss. 

“If you think I’m doing something, why are you kissing me more?”

Mac only shrugged and leaned back in. Dennis pushed his face away, though. Locked his lips against Mac’s neck and sucked against his skin, taking it between his teeth for a split second. He smelled like beer. He always smelled like beer. And his skin always tasted a certain way-- not something Dennis could define. Just different, markedly, from the taste of anyone else Dennis had ever been with. 

Just to be safe, he kept his mouth on Mac’s neck for a long time. Let Mac’s hands explore his back. Then, once he was certain he’d left a mark, he pulled away.

“We should get back to work,” he said, smirking a little.

“Yeah, probably,” Mac agreed. “Just-- really quick.”

He went in for one last kiss. Of course he did. A layer of daze over his dark eyes, and a layer of smugness hiding beneath Dennis’ blue ones, they went back out.


	9. look inside your heart, i'll look inside mine

December 14, 2018 

They went out for drinks or dinner all the time, just the two of them, so why did tonight feel so much like a date?

A shitty date by the standards of most, though, probably. It had consisted of pre-gaming with beers and Predator at home, and then slamming tequila shots and rum and Cokes at a bar that was maybe six percent nicer than Paddy’s. The music was loud. Too loud. And the lights were too bright. Dennis never understood the appeal of loud music and bright lights. Paddy’s was always dim and the music was always low. He missed Paddy’s, for a second. Their stupid pub felt more like Dennis’ home base than his apartment did. But it was Sunday night. Paddy’s was closed and locked up.

“Hey, Den, they’re playing one of your favorite songs,” Mac shouted over the music and the whir of voices. Dennis turned to look at him-- and noticed how droopy his dark eyes had become. Noticed the way he stumbled a little as he reached for Dennis. He was completely blasted.

It took Dennis a moment to remember to listen to the song. Higher Love by Steve Winwood. The chorus kicked in just then, and Mac started singing along to it softly, shouldering his way closer to Dennis, a drunk grin on his face. His fight or flight reaction was triggered, but he remembered how nice Mac was to him lately, how good of a job Mac did taking care of him when he needed it-- and he pretended to be drunker than he was. Let Mac inch forward, let Mac’s hands snake around his back. Let the moment happen. Let himself smile a little bit. Ignored the clanging in his chest. They didn’t know anyone around this bar anyway. None of this mattered. Nothing mattered. Nothing was real.

He even let Mac kiss him. Even kissed Mac back. Tried hard to ignore the oceans of shaving cream and marshmallow fluff and soap bubbles that softened around his stony heart. Tried to chalk it all up to lust.

Mac looked so damn happy when they pulled away. So damn happy that Dennis even felt himself smile a little bit too. This moment didn’t have to count, he decided. This moment could just be for them.

“Let’s get another drink,” Dennis suggested. “What do you want?”

“Yeah! Sounds great! Another double tequila!”

Dennis made a face. Mac must have been drinking doubles all night. That must be why he was so damn blasted. But if Mac wanted to blur himself into oblivion, far be it for Dennis to stop him. He went to the bar and got their drinks before heading back to the table he and Mac had been standing at since the point where Mac became too drunk to be able to reliably stand with a drink in his hand.

“Thanks Den,” Mac slurred as Dennis set his drink down on the table. “Your hair looks like the ocean, bro, you know that?”

Dennis recoiled a tiny bit before letting himself be flattered. “What?”

“Yeah, man. Like, it used to not, and it stuck up, ‘cause it was shorter, but now it’s longer and you can see all the curls and it looks like the ocean.” Clumsily, Mac reached up and traced the shape of Dennis’ wavy hair. “Like the ocean. I like it. You got great hair, man. You got such good hair.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking a deep sip of his rum and Diet Coke. “I’m so drunk,” he said. He wasn’t.

Mac drooped a little more. “Me too, dude. Like so drunk I thought maybe not to drink another drink, but like, now it’s too late so I guess I’m gonna drink it,” he said from behind his glass. “So drunk like, I dunno when the last time I was this drunk was, man, you know? Charlie has really dark eyelashes. You ever notice that? Like he’s wearing eyeliner almost.”

Dennis was almost pissed off that Mac spent enough time looking into Charlie’s eyes to remember what his lashes looked like. He grabbed Mac by the shoulders and kissed him hard.

“I don’t look at Charlie’s eyelashes,” he shouted over the music.

He felt Mac’s weight against him for a moment. The guy’s balance was fucked. 

“You know what I miss,” Mac shouted back. 

“What, man?”

“Paddy’s,” he slurred. I miss it ‘cause it’s like-- it’s just a better bar than this bar. We got shit figured out. We got the best bar in Philly. In America!”

Again, Dennis smiled a tiny bit. “I miss Paddy’s too, man. You wanna go?”

“We’re closed.”

Dennis fished around his pocket for his keys. Took them out and held them in front of Mac’s face. “Yeah, but we own that shit, dude, I got the key.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “Oh my God! You’re right, dude, we own that shit! Let’s go!”

“Finish your drink,” Dennis suggested, lifting his to knock the rest back. The fizz burned the back of his throat a little, but he downed it anyway. Took Mac’s hand. He was just in that kind of mood tonight. 

The winter air was cold against their jackets, but Dennis was tipsy enough that he was impervious to the chill. Or maybe Mac’s million degrees hand was keeping him warm. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

“Yikes, dude, it’s fuckin’ cold out here,” Mac slurred, his feet uneven against the sidewalk. “We almost there?”

“We just left, man. We’re like ten minutes away. If we walk fast.”

“Ahh, ‘s okay. I’m good. I got you.”

Dennis felt something deep in his chest. Quickly smothered the feeling. “Yeah, man. You got me.”

“We’re married,” Mac blurted out, stumbling a little. “How wild is that? We’re like married. I’m your husband. How’d that even happen?”

“We were really drunk,” Dennis said.

“Aah-- I would've married you anyway.”

He almost froze. Again: smothered the feeling. Continued down the sidewalk. He had to hold Mac’s hand, he reasoned. If he let the guy go, he’d be face down in pavement within seconds. He was too wobbly. Dennis was just looking out for him. If your spouse dies, you have to pay money, right?

No, he remembered. If your spouse dies you get money. 

He already had money, though. No reason to want more. No reason to murder his husband. He almost laughed at himself. 

“I’m happy ‘bout it too, man,” Mac said sloppily, touching Dennis’ arm with his other hand for a second, interpreting Dennis’ little giggle wrong. “I know I was acting like I didn’t care either way but I was just doin’ that to be play cool for you.”

“You don’t have to play cool for me,” Dennis dismissed, since it was easier than acknowledging the other part of what Mac said. 

“Aw, really dude?”

“Really. I never thought you were cool in the first place.”

Mac laughed weakly. So weakly that Dennis glanced sideways at him to make sure he was okay-- he just looked sleepy. If Dennis were someone else he might suggest Mac stop drinking for the night. But he wasn’t someone else. He was Dennis Reynolds. And Dennis Reynolds didn’t tell people to stop drinking ever, even when he maybe should.

They made it to the Paddy’s Pub soon anyway. Mac leaned against the wall while Dennis fumbled his key in the lock. It took a minute-- he really was pretty buzzed, even if he wasn’t fucked up like Mac was-- but he got it eventually. Mac shoved the light on as they went in, and Dennis locked the door behind them. They were still closed, dammit. He didn’t want anyone else stumbling in.

“Sit down, man. You’re wobbling all over the place,” Dennis said.

“Yeah, okay.” Mac found his way to a booth and sat down. Meanwhile, Dennis headed behind the bar to get them each a beer, along with the bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. Which Mac definitely did not need. But Dennis needed to catch up, dammit, and he wasn’t going to drink alone.

He sat down across from Mac, setting the tray of drinks on the table. There was still a bowl of shitty broken-up pretzels on the table from when they had been open, so Dennis ate a couple to soak up the alcohol or whatever since it had been like five hours since they’d eaten dinner. After seeing that Dennis was eating some of the pretzels, Mac ate some too. They were maybe a little bit stale. Dennis realized he had no idea how long they had actually been sitting out. Realized he had no idea who was in charge of the snacks. Ate another handful anyway. Salt is good. Whatever.

“’s nice that it’s quiet in here,” Mac slurred, picking his beer up. “And dark. Even with the lights on it’s kinda dark.”

“Yeah, man. It is nice.” Dennis took a long swig of his beer. Remembered how loud and chaotic the other bar had been. Wondered why they ever bothered drinking anywhere other than Paddy’s. “Real nice.”


	10. boys don't cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's not pretend this shit is all cute and romantic........ visualize the visuals in this chapter and i think u will find that they are Funny, Ridiculous, and/or Pathetic  
> also. content warning: puke. not graphic or very descriptive, but yeah. puke.  
> another content warning: non-sexual nudity.

December 14, 2018 

Time got away from them. Flitted under the door, or down the vents, or maybe it was carried away by the pipes. Wherever it went, it had left Mac slumped in the booth, and Dennis going to get water because they both needed to drink some, frankly. 

The air around him felt thick. Paddy’s had rickety ambient noises that Dennis hated, but they were usually covered with chatter or yelling or low music. Now they were ripping at him. Alcohol served to numb most of it, but not all-- not every trace. The traces that remained, he had to force himself not to notice. But he was used to feeling that way.

Mac groaned a little. It startled Dennis; he turned around, feeling his hair on his forehead, feeling his shirt ride up on the side a little, feeling like he wanted Mac to be sober for some reason. 

“Are you alright?”

Mac un-slumped enough to look at Dennis. For a moment, both of their faces were normal. And then Mac’s face was crying. Then Dennis’ face was-- not normal. He swallowed hard. Went back over to the booth. Sat next to Mac instead of across from him.

“What’s going on, baby?” He asked, trying to keep his words as steady as possible even though his chest burned from too much booze. (Still not as much booze as Mac had, though.)

He let Mac bury his face in Dennis’ shoulder. Let him take fistfuls of his shirt. Let his arms close around Mac. Let himself worry a little bit. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“You don’t want us to be married,” Mac sobbed into Dennis’ shoulder.

“I never said that.” Quick, what would Mac be doing if it was Dennis crying-- he’d be stroking his hair. Dennis didn’t want to do that. Mac’s hair was always full of gel shit. He stroked Mac’s back instead. That was another thing Mac did when Dennis was upset, right? He wasn't used to this, wasn't used to the one doing the comforting-- didn't like it one bit, honestly-- hated seeing Mac upset. It ripped a harsh question through his mind: _is this how I make Mac feel when I freak out?_

“You didn’t need to.”

“Mac, please, I--” he scrunched his eyes shut. Exhaled against Mac’s hair. “It was always going to be you and me. We both know that. We were never going to… one of us wasn’t going to move out and get married to someone and have kids or get a different job or something. Now it’s just more official. Don’t worry about me.”

“I worry about you every second,” Mac wailed. “Every goddamn second, Den, I worry ‘bout you ‘cause you’re always saying shit people don’t say and wilting sometimes and I… you ignore me and push me away, and I just want to love you, I just want to take care of you and make sure you’re okay all the time, and we have such a good time together but I don’t even enjoy it because I spend the whole time thinking about how it’s gonna end…”

“It’s not going to end, Mac.”

“Yes it is. You fucking know it is. Not permanently but right now you’re here with me and tomorrow you might be somewhere else.”

“I won’t be somewhere else. We live together,” he said, stroking Mac’s back a little harder. Maybe that was the key.

“I didn’t mean physically,” he whimpered. “I… I don’t feel good, Den--”

Dennis pulled away just in time for Mac to puke on the table. Blubbering and crying and saying his feelings and barfing. What a goddamn mess.

Dennis exhaled. Removed himself from the booth. Realized there was a tear or two in his eyes, somehow-- wiped them away quickly. Sniffled a little. “Sit tight, okay, baby? I’ll be right back. It’s all gonna be okay.”

He stumbled to the bathroom, seeing fuzz and sparkles and blur-- seeing a world where he was alone, which was the last thing he wanted to be--

He got paper towels. Dampened them. Grabbed way too many. Tried hard to walk straight on his way back to Mac, who was still crying, his face in his hands.

“Here, wipe your face, okay?” Dennis said, stuffing a wad of wet paper towel between Mac’s face and his hand. With the rest of the paper towels he quickly wiped up the puke, trying hard not to breathe in through his nose so he wouldn’t have to experience Puke Smell. Once he had all the liquid gone, he stopped, figuring he’d make Charlie clean it for real tomorrow.

“We need to go home, Mac,” he said.

“Dunno if I can make it.”

“I’ll call an Uber. Just take a deep breath, okay? It’s going to be okay.”

“Don’t leave me, Dennis.” Still crying.

“I’m not going anywhere, man. We’re going to go home together, then we’re going to clean up, then we’re going to go to sleep. And in the morning you’ll feel better.”

He knew that wasn’t what Mac meant.

But it was the closest Dennis could get right now.

Eventually he dragged Mac into an Uber. The driver kept glancing at them from the rearview mirror, eyebrows knitted-- she probably wasn’t used to seeing a grown man bawling his eyes out on another grown man’s shoulder at three a.m. on a Sunday night. Dennis tipped her well for having to put up with the blubbering.

They made their way upstairs, Dennis’ arm around Mac’s shoulders to keep him from falling over. Just to keep him from falling over. That was the only reason. Yeah.

When they got to their door Dennis fumbled with the key, his drunk fingers not working very well. Once they were inside, Mac locked the door. He always liked to be the one to lock the door. Even if he was completely blasted.

Then, he turned toward his room, taking Dennis’ hand.

“You gotta brush your teeth and stuff, man,” Dennis said, though he went with Mac anyway.

“So tired,” Mac said. He was still blubbering a little bit. 

“You really wanna sleep with like, puke on your face?” Mostly, Dennis didn’t want to sleep with puke on Mac’s face.

“Dunno if I can do it, bro.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Dennis said, exhaling a little bit. 

“You’re gonna brush my teeth for me?”

“Sure. I’ll figure it out. Come on.” Dennis led Mac to the bathroom, closed the toilet lid, and sat him down on it. He looked around the room. Didn’t want to get toothpaste all over the place. 

After a few moments of consideration, he turned the shower on. Held his hand under the water for a moment to make sure he got it to the right temperature. Then; re-calibrated and turned it down a little. Mac didn’t like the water to be as hot as Dennis liked it. 

“What, I gotta take a whole-ass shower now?”

“It’ll be better, man.” For a moment, Dennis felt so woozy he could hardly stand up. Felt the bitterness in his stomach. Wondered if he was going to barf too. Didn’t. Couldn’t. Someone had to be the more sober one. It was just usually Mac.

“You’re the boss.”

“Take your clothes off.”

Clumsily, Mac wrestled his way out of his shirt and started pulling on his pants. Shoes and jackets were in a pile by the door already.

Dennis watched him, distracted, before taking his clothes off himself. Mac had really nice arms and shoulders, he thought quietly. Thick and toned but still kind of soft. What a weird thing to think. Good thing, he thought, this was a silent conversation with just himself.

“You have good arms, dude,” he heard himself blurt out. “Sexy arms.”

Mac almost smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was clear he still felt like shit. “Thanks, bro.”

For a second he wanted to kiss Mac, but then he remembered the puking. Grabbed their toothbrushes and the toothpaste. Which they shared. They hadn’t always, but Mac kept forgetting whose toothpaste was whose, so eventually they just started sharing. Dennis couldn’t put his finger on when that happened. On when they went from roommates who occasionally did physical stuff to two co-dependant assholes.

He took his clothes off. Helped Mac into the shower so he wouldn’t fall-- clearly the guy couldn’t exactly stand up anymore, though, so after a moment they both ended up sitting on the shower floor, the water an erratic rain above their heads.

“I’m gonna pass out, dude,” Mac mumbled, eyes closing.

“No, just a little longer. Let’s get cleaned up, then you can pass out.”

“Dunno, man.”

“Open your mouth.”

Mac’s shoulders were swaying back and forth as he tried to keep himself upright. He opened his mouth, eyes still flitting.

Unsure of how else to make this work, Dennis put his hand against Mac’s forehead to hold it in place. Immediately, Mac leaned into it. Yep. The shower was the only way this was going to work. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other naked a million times anyway.

Hand on Mac’s forehead, Dennis put a glob of toothpaste on his lip and wiped it off with the toothbrush since that was the only plan of action he could come up with to get toothpaste on the toothbrush with one hand. Frowning in concentration, having never brushed someone else’s teeth, he tried to walk the line between making sure Mac’s teeth were fully brushed and not gagging him with the toothbrush. 

Not at all sexy, he thought to himself. Pretty pathetic, actually. Pretty goddamn pathetic. Dennis decided he must be a very good friend to do this. Although, legally, they weren’t just friends.

“Okay, dude. You can spit the toothpaste out and rinse your mouth.”

Mac spat the toothpaste out. It ended up on Dennis’ leg. Whatever. This was why he wanted to do this in the shower. 

Mac leaned back against the wall once his mouth was clean, eyes closed.

“Don’t fall asleep, man,” Dennis said, putting toothpaste on his own toothbrush. It was warm in there. He didn’t want to stand up. Whatever.

“Won’t,” Mac mumbled. His hair had come un-gelled; was falling onto his forehead now, matted down by water. Dennis almost liked this look better. Almost liked anything Mac’s hair did better than the way he slicked it back. Even the chaotic straight-up thing that happened when Mac first woke up in the morning.

“Den,” Mac said a moment later.

Dennis spit out his mouthful of toothpaste. Wiped his lips. “Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m okay,” Dennis said. “Are you okay?”

“I wanna go to bed,” he mumbled.

“We’ll go to bed in a second, baby. We have to dry off.”

Mac said something else, but Dennis couldn’t quire decipher it. He tried for a second before surrendering. “What was that?”

“I like it when you call me baby.”

Dennis almost cringed. He hated it when he called Mac baby. He rarely meant to. It just came out. Which was-- weird. Because he never called people pet names. He only meant to when he was trying to manipulate Mac.

Realized that was kind of fucked up.

“We should shower together more,” Mac added, mumbling.

“Sure. Maybe when we aren’t blasted.”

Mac laughed weakly.

Neither of them had used soap or shampoo or anything, but they’d both been rinsed thoroughly and their faces were clean enough, so he figured that was enough. He reached up to turn the water off. The silence felt nice.

“You should drink water before you go to bed,” Dennis suggested. He needed a second before he stood up. Even though his ass was starting to go to sleep from sitting on the hard bathtub floor.

“‘S my job.”

“Drinking water is your job?”

“Telling you to drink water. ‘S my job.”

“Then do it.”

“Drink water, Dennis,” Mac slurred.

“Okay. I will.” He always bitched about Mac being bossy-- bitching was kind of his thing, really-- but he almost liked it.

He stood up, grabbing a towel off the rack and wrapping it around his waist. He didn’t know if it was a clean towel. Didn’t know if it was his or Mac’s. Whatever. Too drunk to care.

He grabbed another one for Mac. Helped him stand up. Wrapped it around his waist. He didn’t have the energy or the coordination to dry either of them off, so it looked like they were both going to go to bed a little damp. 

Mac was already leaning against the wall, but Dennis figured he’d follow if Dennis left the room-- and he was right. They made it to Mac’s room, where Mac immediately just sat on the bed. Dennis wrestled a clean pair of boxers onto him before turning to go.

“No, you gotta sleep with me, please,” Mac mumbled.

“Just gotta go get clothes,” Dennis said clumsily. “Be right back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The space in front of his eyes was splotchy. He stumbled into it, barely keeping balance, barely managing to get to his room and dry off a tiny bit and put on some boxers and a tee shirt. He felt so beat, he wanted to flop down on his huge bed and sleep-- but he’d promised Mac, and it’s not like he wanted to sleep alone anyway. He needed to get rid of his surveillance setup so they could start sleeping in his room on his nicer bed. There was just something in him that couldn’t bear the thought of the cameras picking up him with Mac, even though he could easily delete the footage. And since they only slept together in Mac’s room Dennis was in charge-- he was the one who slept between two beds; Mac would always be waiting for him. He liked that, he figured. He had to like it. Of course he liked it. Of course he liked being in charge.

“Dennis?”

“Yeah.”

“You coming?”

“Yeah,” he said, stumbling a little as he turned toward the door. He made his way to the kitchen and got them each a glass of water. Nearly spilled about a million times as he carried them into Mac’s room.

“Drink this whole thing,” he instructed, putting the glass in Mac’s hand.

He spilled a little water on himself, but drank the whole glass. Dennis drank his too.

“Can we go to bed now, bro?”

“Yeah,” Dennis said, shutting the door and turning the light off. He got into his side of the bed and immediately felt Mac’s arms around him. He sighed. Nestled against his roommate. Husband. Best friend. Fuck buddy. Blood brother. Whatever the fuck they were.


	11. most other people are just dead ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warning: the gang ignores dee

December 21, 2018  
a Friday  
noon

“A little over $100 less than usual,” Dee huffed, zipping the money pouch shut.

“Dammit,” Mac said.

“What do youse care? I pay all your bills,” Frank asked from the table behind where Dee, Mac, and Dennis were sitting.

“You don’t pay my bills, Frank,” Dennis said, glancing over his shoulder. “You just pay Dee’s and the bar’s. I have car insurance, rent, electricity, cable, Internet, and phone bills to pay. This is my career.”

“Oh, relax, dude, you get more tips than anyone,” Charlie chimed in.

“You shut up, Charlie. Frank pays for your shit too.”

“Let’s stop bitching about who pays for what and figure out a way to make money really quick,” Dee interjected. “I have my eyes on nine separate things from H&M. We need to do a theme night or something to get people in the bar.”

“That’s stupid,” Dennis dismissed.

“We could do some kind of deal,” Mac suggested. “Every third beer comes with a free shot of Svedka or some other cheap booze.”

“Now you’re on the right track,” Dennis said, nodding.

“Fireball’s cheap,” Charlie said. “Or we could have some gas in a canister and let ‘em huff it if they buy a couple drinks first.”

“Dude, no, we’ll get shut down,” Mac said. “I have an idea. Let’s do the beer and shots thing, but also do a theme night to get people in the door in the first place.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dee demanded.

“Great idea, Mac,” Dennis said, ignoring his sister. “What kind of theme?”

“Well…” the way Mac’s eyebrows lifted told Dennis that Mac already knew he’d hate the idea.

“What, Mac?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“When we did the whole gay bar gambit a few years back, we made bank,” Mac pointed out. “Pop up a few rainbow flags, maybe install those glitter dispensers I was talking about-- we can do shots of some fruity shit like Smirnoff Sour. We can leave a couple flyers outside Rainbow-- that place is expensive as shit. Gay dudes love you, Den.”

Dennis scoffed. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It totally is,” Dee said. “It’ll be fun. We can play Britney Spears and Madonna and stuff. We can get a bunch of temporary tattoos from the dollar store and we can sell them for way more than we paid.

“Might be fun,” Charlie said.

“Dude, you should get more involved with the community,” Mac suggested. “We tell them we got a gay head of security and a trans janitor and they’ll be all over the place.”

“A what janitor?” Frank asked lazily. No one bothered answering him.

“I guess,” Charlie said uncertainly. 

Dennis shifted uncomfortably. Crossed his arms tighter. Isn’t it special that Charlie and Mac get to be a part of a little community. He glanced at Dee to see if she was getting annoyed with their shit too, but she just looked enthusiastic.

“I’ll make the flyer,” she said, going toward the office. “We still have time to pull this off tonight. Everyone wear bright clothes. They love that shit. So-- Mac and Dennis, decorations. Frank and Charlie, go get temporary tattoos and a couple flavors of Smirnoff sour. Meet back here by three to decorate and open. Dennis-- wear something cute. They’re gonna be all over you.” She shut the door.

“Okay, Charlie, let’s go,” Frank said. Charlie nodded, hopping off his bar stool.

Mac looked at Dennis, grinning. “This is gonna be fun, dude.”

Dennis didn’t bother replying. He hadn’t agreed to any of this, didn’t like the idea-- but everyone else was already making it happen, and they did need to make some extra money tonight. Nothing he could do.

Mac took his hand and started leading him toward the door. Dennis yanked it away.


	12. choking on your alibi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warning: mac and dennis are........... both full of big idiot energy

December 21, 2018

“You’re gonna wear that, dude?”

Dennis set his jaw, looking down at his blue flannel before surveying Mac’s shirt: a soft grey tee with a desaturated, distressed rainbow flag on it. The sleeves strained around his biceps a little. “I don’t have any rainbow clothes, Mac.”

“Wanna wear some of mine? I have like three pride shirts,” he said cheerfully. 

“I guess.”

“I’ll grab you one.” Mac turned back toward his room, walking with a bounce in his step that almost pissed Dennis off for some reason. He stood there waiting, watching, until Mac re-emerged, holding a navy blue shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Dennis opened his mouth to say he wasn’t going to wear something without sleeves, but before he could, Mac pulled his tee shirt off and tossed it to Dennis.

“The other ones I have are polyester,” Mac explained, putting on the navy blue one, which had rainbow stripes across the chest. “I know you hate wearing stuff like that. You can have this one, it’s really soft.”

He opened his mouth again, this time to say he doesn’t have fabric aversions like some child-- but then he realized Mac was right. He couldn’t stand wearing some materials. So instead, he accepted the grey cotton tee shirt and started unbuttoning his flannel. “Thanks.”

“No problem. It’ll look good on you.”

He put it on, but he put the flannel on over it. Left it unbuttoned, but pulled it mostly closed.

“Cool,” Mac said, grinning. “Let’s head over, then. Don’t forget your coat. It’s cold.”

A little annoyed, a little… some other feeling he couldn’t place, Dennis grabbed his coat and put it on.

When they walked into Paddy’s, Dee, Charlie, and Frank were already putting the cheap decorations up. Three flavors of Smirnoff Sour were lined up at the bar with a little sign next to it, advertising a free shot for every third drink on your tab. 

“The place looks great, Dee!” Mac said.

“Thanks.” She had a colorful striped button down on, which was knotted just above the waist of her high-waisted skinny jeans. Ridiculous, Dennis thought, his eye catching her sparkly green eyeshadow as she started talking again. “I think this is a great idea, guys. And, sure, we can keep pretending it was Mac who came up with it.”

“Charlie, what the hell is that?” Mac asked, ignoring Dee, as Charlie emerged from the bathroom.

“What?”

“Your shirt, dude.”

“It’s lions,” Charlie said, glancing down at his worn brown shirt, which featured three lions with a bonus pair of lion eyes looming across the chest. “‘Cause you said to wear pride stuff. Lions are a pride. And they’re badass.”

“You dum-dum,” Mac said, laughing. “Oh well. Guess you can just explain it if anyone asks.”

“I like it, Charlie,” Frank said. He was dressed exactly the same as usual, with the added bonus of a shitty toupee and neon orange crocs. No one bothered asking.

“This is awesome, guys, we’re gonna have so much fun,” Mac said, his eyes gleaming eagerly. 

“And make a shit ton of money,” Dee added.

“Isn’t anyone gonna notice my shoes? Youse are all dressin’ up so I bought me some new crocs.” He kicked one of his feet forward, showing it off.

Charlie clapped his shoulder. “Good for you, man. Doing somethin’ nice for yourself.”

Dennis exhaled slowly, suddenly kind of headachey. He took his coat off and went to hang it on the rack in the office.

The gang put the finishing touches up. Charlie swept up all the peanut shells. Dee finished cleaning all the glasses. Mac went to drop the flyers around Rainbow. Frank was in the back office doing… whatever the hell he did. And Dennis-- Dennis was standing behind the bar, moving around bowls of peanuts, buttoning up his flannel, daydreaming about putting his wedding ring down the garbage disposal. How was he ever going to flirt with another girl with this damn thing on? And if he kept it on long enough, it would leave a gross indent in his finger, like his parents used to have-- then it would be obvious even when he did take it off. He glared at it a little.

“Slice some limes, dude, make yourself useful,” Dee suggested.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he huffed. “I’m higher up than you. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Bullshit. If anything you’re lower than me.”

“In what world is a waitress higher than a bartender, Dee?”

“Lighten up, Dennis.”

“You fucking lighten up,” he snapped.

“This is supposed to be fun. We’re going to make lots of money. Artemis told all her gay friends, so even if the things with the flyers at the Rainbow and the sign outside don’t pan out we’ll still get like twenty or thirty twinks up in here. We’re gonna make bank.”

He didn’t reply, feeling a burning behind his forehead for a reason he couldn’t define. He left, heading into the keg room for a jar of maraschino cherries.

By the time it was fully dark outside, there were at least forty people milling around, most of them dressed ridiculously. Mac was taking a long time checking IDs at the door, letting them in slowly to make it look more exclusive-- also ridiculous. 

“Ha! Just got a big tip, Dennis! Gay dudes love me,” Dee said, nudging past her brother to get to the tip jar.

“Congratulations,” Dennis said.

“Unbutton your shirt so they can see the rainbow, you dip.”

“Maybe later. It’s cold in here.”

“Having your shirt buttoned is not going to make a difference in how warm you are.”

“I’m cold, Dee. You bitch.”

“Whatever, dude. If you want to be miserable instead of having fun like the rest of us that’s on you.” She wandered off before Dennis could retort.

He huffed a little. Heard Mac laugh loudly over the music and the chatter. Turned back to the line. “What can I get you?”

“Vodka soda with lots of lime,” the guy said, grinning. He slipped a bill into Dennis’ front pocket. “And maybe your number.”

“I’m-- not gay,” Dennis heard himself say, pulling back a little. He turned to make the drink. Did it quickly, handing it back to the guy. “Have a nice night, man. Two more drinks and you get a free shot.”

“Thanks, cutie.” The guy walked off. Dennis scrunched up his nose a little bit. Glanced down at his shirt to make sure it was still buttoned up.

He continued to make drinks and crack open beers for the guys who came to his line, occasionally glancing down the bar to Dee to make sure she wasn’t in over her head since she only knew how to make like three different drinks. Every once in a while he caught sight of Mac standing just inside the door, talking and laughing with the customers as he checked IDs. He looked happy. So did Dee. 

Eventually the stream of people coming in died down. The stream of people needing drinks died down too, with one or two people wandering to the bar at a time. Mac had left his post at the door-- he was walking around the pub, chatting here and there, laughing. Dennis watched as he touched one guy on the arm before wandering over to talk to Charlie. Why the shit did Mac have to touch people on the arm all the damn time? What was his thing with arms?

Dennis felt increasing pressure pushing against his forehead. Felt it harden every few minutes. He took a long swig of beer, then another-- then he downed the rest of what was in his glass and all but slammed it into the sink. He exhaled hard. Let his legs carry him into the keg room.

He leaned against the wall for a second, pushing his hair back. He was hot. It wasn’t cold at all, with that many bodies moving around the bar and the heat on. He looked down at his shirt. He’d already started sweating. He’d be a mess if he kept it on. Fumbling with the buttons, he started to undo it. Took it off. He never wore colors, wasn’t used to this kind of rainbow business-- he liked wearing blue, grey, and green, the colors that made his eyes pop. He wadded the button-down shirt up and set it on top of a keg slowly, the flannel warm and soft in his hands. He looked down at the tee shirt that remained under it. Wondered, for a second, if it still smelled like Mac. Lifted the neck up to his nose-- it did. 

“What are you doing?”

He started a tiny bit. “Nothing,” he said, turning toward his sister.

“You’re smelling your shirt. You have B.O.? Spray yourself with Febreze.”

“No, Dee, I don’t have B.O. And if I did, I wouln’t spray myself with Febreze. Also, that’s not Febreze.” He picked up the can of air freshener off the shelf. “It’s Odor Ban Great Fresh Citrus Non-Freshening Air Scent Not For Use Around Babies or the Elderly Caution Fire Hazard,” Dennis said, tone suggesting he was talking about something much more life-and-death than knockoff air freshener.

“So you’re smelling it ‘cause it’s Mac’s shirt and you’re gross?” She suggested, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorway.

“I’m not-- I wasn’t smelling it.”

“You were smelling it.”

“I was smelling nothing. You were… you smell bad.”

“Hmm, really good burn there, Dennis, really great stuff. Proud of your mental prowess. Why are you being such a bag of dicks tonight?”

“I’m not,” he insisted.

“You are.”

He huffed. “I just don’t get what all the fuss is about. Why this is such a great amazing idea.”

“We’re all having fun because these people are fun and they’re tipping us really well,” Dee said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s so hard to understand about that?”

“I guess I get why Mac and Charlie would be enjoying themselves, but you-- you aren’t… me and you aren’t included in this stuff.”

“You’re married to a man. That’s pretty damn gay.”

“I’m not-- I’m not gay, Dee. Me and Mac aren’t a couple. We got married as a joke. We don’t kiss or hold hands or have sex or anything. We got these rings-- as, as a joke, Dee.” Even as he heard the words he didn’t quite believe them. Knew damn well it wasn’t a joke to Mac. Remembered all the times Mac let Dennis sleep on him when he was having a rough day-- all the early morning kisses, all the times Mac was the only one who could make him feel better, all the ways Mac understood him on such a different level than anyone else in the entire world. Guilt, or something like it, swelled behind his lungs. Guilt that he would even pretend that all that didn’t matter.

“Dennis.” She exhaled hard through her nose. “I’ve literally seen you two hold hands like a million times. And you do it all tight, with your fingers all tangled together, so I know you fuck each other. Not that I needed proof. I’ve known since we were in college. Are you really so goddamn stupid about this shit? Are you really moping around here, feeling all left out because Mac’s out of the closet and you refuse to be?”

“I’m-- I’m-- it’s something that doesn’t involve me, of course I feel left out.” His face was burning. It had to be at least like eighty degrees in there. He wanted to say he wasn’t gay again. He wasn’t, truly, he reasoned silently-- he loved having sex with women. Loved the feeling of breasts against his body. So he wasn’t gay. He didn’t even like men at all. Didn’t like it when Mac kissed him or held his hand or hugged him or tangled their bodies up at night or banged. He just tolerated those things because it could be entertaining or pleasing in a sexual way and because Mac wanted it-- he did it for Mac, that was it. He was just a really good friend.

“Oh my God,” she said. “You really are this goddamn stupid. Unbelievable.”

“What?” He demanded.

“You’re jealous because Mac is talking to all those cute guys out there, having a good time, and you’re excluding yourself from it because you’re an idiot who refuses to just have fun and let loose. Nobody’s asking you to fill out a questionnaire about your sexuality. No one gives a shit. You can go out there and have fun and kiss Mac if you want. No one gives a single shit.” Shaking her head a little, she turned to leave.

“Wait, Dee,” he heard himself say.

“Yeah?”

“Do you… do you think Mac’s… I mean, he’s flirting with all those guys, he always flirts with guys when they come in, I…” his feet shuffled. His mouth didn’t know what words he meant to say. His brain didn’t either. His sister somehow figured it out, though.

“Dennis, goddammit, he’s so in love with you it’s disgusting. All this shit would be easier for you if you’d just accept that and admit you love him too. I gotta go. I think this one guy in there said he was bi and he’s waiting for a gin and tonic.” She grabbed the vacuum-sealed bag of limes and stalked out of the keg room.

Dennis took a deep breath. Exhaled it slowly. Tried to ignore the burning behind his eyes.


	13. but it's just the price i pay

December 21, 2018

Mac could tell Dennis was uncomfortable with the rainbow shit, but he figured the guy would get used to it. He looked cute, anyway, Mac kept thinking. 

The bar started to fill up-- fuller than Mac had seen it in a long time, in fact. The music was dulled by sounds of laughter and chatter and glasses against the tables. Specks of glitter found their way onto the floors and tables, falling off arms and faces and phone cases and shirts. Gay dudes were really into glitter, he noted. He’d figured that was the case. Glitter was cool. Sparkly. He totally understood why people were into it, especially when they were drunk. 

The surly regulars would barely say a word to Mac usually, but these guys, they were all smiles. Most of them flirted with him as he checked their IDs. He flirted back, though he glanced to Dennis behind the bar every once in a while-- Dennis, who had buttoned his flannel up over the borrowed rainbow shirt. Dennis, who’s hair looked absolutely fucking phenomenal tonight, Mac couldn’t help but notice. So wavy, with a curl falling over his forehead. He wanted to go right over there and touch the curl. But he didn’t.

He watched guys flirt with Dennis, one after another. Watched a guy tuck a five dollar bill into Dennis’ shirt pocket. 

He frowned a little, eyes still on the guy. He wasn’t having fun. Clearly, he wasn’t having fun. He was almost scowling, in fact, his jaw set. 

It had taken like thirty years, but Mac was proud of who he was now. Proud of their shitty pub, proud of his cozy life with his best friend. Whom he loved. Undoubtedly, he loved Dennis. Fiercely, he loved Dennis. And he wanted Dennis to be proud too-- and happy, of course. Which Dennis was, clearly, not.

Fewer people started coming in, though the crowd was still thick. Mac left the door and started wandering. Asking if anyone needed anything. Asking if people were having fun, if they knew about the promotion with the free Smirnoff Sour shot. Laughing when they flirted with him. 

He glanced back at Dennis. Dennis, who was staring down at the bar. Dennis, who was taking long sips of beer and putting his glass down too hard. 

Mac turned back toward the crowd. Caught Charlie’s eye.

“Hey, Charlie,” he said, feet starting to carry him toward his best friend. 

“Hey,” Charlie said, nodding once. There was a stain on his lion shirt now, but Mac didn’t bother asking what it was. Could be anything, really. 

“You having fun, bro?”

“Aw, yeah, it’s cool. It’s nice that nobody’s fighting. I feel like usually if we have this many people at once somebody’s fighting somebody.”

“Yeah, man,” Mac agreed. His eyes flitted back toward Dennis for a second. Dennis, who was avoiding some twink’s eyes as he cracked open a beer. Dennis, who was clearly being flirted with by the customer.

“You good, dude?”

“Yeah,” Mac said, a beat too late. He turned back to Charlie. “Just keep noticing all these guys talking to Dennis and putting shit in his pocket.”

“Don’t you guys cheat on each other all the time? Are you even together?”

Mac frowned a little. “Honestly-- I don’t know, man. I don’t know.” He sighed. Glanced toward the bar again. “It’s like one day he’s all smiling at me, kissing me, whatever-- the next he won’t even look at me.”

Charlie shrugged, taking a sip from his beer bottle. “Dude’s kinda weird.”

“Yeah.”

“So why don’t you tell him?”

Mac met Charlie’s eyes, his brow furrowing a bit. “Tell him what, man?”

“I dunno,” Charlie said. “Whatever you wanna tell him, I guess.”

“Right,” Mac said slowly, trying to figure out what Charlie meant. “What… do you think I should tell him?”

Charlie shrugged. Took another sip of beer. “You could just ask him if he loves you. ‘Cause you love him.”

“I--” He stopped. Closed his mouth tight for a moment. 

“‘Cause you should tell people if you love them,” Charlie continued, tone suggesting they were talking about much more mundane than love. 

He almost protested. Almost said no, Charlie, what would you know about this kind of thing, the only person you’ve ever been in love with is the waitress and she hates your guts. Instead, he just kind of nodded.

“You’re right, Charlie,” he said after a few moments. “You… you should tell people if you love them. Yeah. Thanks. I guess. I’m… I’ll catch up with you later, bro.”

He turned and walked away. Walked toward the bar, where Dennis was supposed to be-- the bar, where Dennis wasn’t. Didn’t plan on telling Dennis anything like what Charlie had suggested. Didn’t plan on telling Dennis anything at all, really. Just kind of wanted to see him. Hear his voice. Touch his hair. Something. Anything.

As he was approaching the bar, Dennis came out of the keg room, no longer wearing the flannel.

“Hey,” Mac said when they caught up with each other.

“Hey,” Dennis said. “I was just coming to find you.”

“I was just coming to find you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay, man?”

“Me? I’m fine,” Dennis said.

“You’re wearing the rainbow shirt,” Mac noted. “It looks good on you. You look good.”

“Oh,” Dennis said again. Blinked. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Mac said.

Customers talked. Laughed. Sang along to the music. Dee cracked open beers in Mac’s peripheral vision. Frank was talking to some girl who was clearly not interested. The men’s bathroom door opened and closed. The song changed.

“You look good too,” Dennis finally said. 

“Thanks,” Mac said.

Someone broke a beer bottle. Someone else hit a ball on the pool table.

Mac opened his mouth to say something. Didn’t know what he was going to say-- didn’t really plan that far ahead. But Dennis didn’t let him, anyway. Kissed him instead, his hands on the side of Mac’s face. Slow.

Mac’s eyes didn’t even close, he was so surprised. So not used to Dennis kissing him in public, or really that often at all, and especially not when they were both sober.

He pulled away after a moment, his eyes meeting Mac’s. There was something in them, Mac realized. Something vulnerable. Different. Like he was waiting for something.

Mac kissed him again, this time closing his eyes and closing his arms around Dennis. Slower. Someone started laughing behind them. Or in front of them. Wherever. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, really.

He would have kissed Dennis forever, he thought, except that there were a bunch of people around. Except that he was supposed to be checking IDs and Dennis was supposed to be making drinks.

So he stopped. 

Dennis took his hand. Mac looked down just in time to watch Dennis’ long, elegant fingers lace into his normal person fingers. Without even thinking about it, Mac’s thumb stroked Dennis’.

“Let’s go help Dee,” Dennis said, eyes a little brighter now.

“Yeah,” Mac said, blinking. “Yeah. Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sequel coming throughout november!

**Author's Note:**

> check out the sequel; take me so breathless


End file.
